


You Came Back

by usedtobeaduchess



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: (sort of), AU, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Resurrection, everything works out in the end-- I promise!, warning for blood, warning for guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 20:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10997988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedtobeaduchess/pseuds/usedtobeaduchess
Summary: “Where is he?” Belle demanded, not bothering to try and hide the tremor of emotion in her voice.Gaston’s smile melted away, and a dark scowl took its place. His hand was sliding, slow and deadly, towards the gun that was holstered in his belt. “When we get back to the village, you will marry me,” he said, drawing the pistol. “And that beast’s head will hang on our wall!”Belle’s heart seized in her chest, and she lunged for the gun.An answer to an AU prompt: What if Belle was the one who got shot, instead of the Beast?





	You Came Back

Belle was halfway to the top of the tower when she heard the gun fire. It echoed off the stone walls of the stairwell, a cold and jarring sound, and the jolt of fear she felt when she heard it was enough to send her dashing up the rest of the way. Splitting pain shot up her calves as she continued to climb, and each breath she took seemed to burn, she was so out of breath, but she ran on, fearing the worst in her heart.

 _Don’t be too late,_ she urged herself. _Go faster, you have to help him. You can’t let him die…_

No gruesome scene met her when she reached the top, though. If there had been a struggle, there was no evidence of it—no spilled blood or shattered stone, no casings from fired bullets littering the floor. And her Beast was not there either, alive or dead. There was only Gaston, standing on the ledge outside of the window, a smug smile plastered over his face. He was readying his bow.

Something flooded Belle’s chest at that sight, something that carried her across the room to Gaston almost of its own accord. There was a bundle of arrows in his free hand, sharp and lethal, as if the gun wasn’t bad enough. She snatched them from him and snapped them over her knee, biting her tongue against the sharp pain that came when they broke.

Up until that moment Gaston had been so focused on his target that he hadn’t taken note of her. Now, though, he rounded on her, his eyes glinting with something that looked too terribly much like hunger.

“Where is he?” Belle demanded, not bothering to try and hide the tremor of emotion in her voice.

Gaston’s smile melted away at that, and a dark scowl took its place. His hand was sliding, slow and deadly, towards the gun that was holstered in his belt. “When we get back to the village, you _will_ marry me,” he said, drawing the pistol. “And that beast’s head will hang on our wall!”

Belle’s heart seized in her chest, and she lunged for the gun.

Gaston mustn’t have expected her to fight back, because by the time he realized what she was doing Belle already had both her hands locked tight around the barrel of the pistol, and was struggling to pry it from his grip. He held fast to it, though, and pulled back against her, snarling: “Just let me have it, Belle. Give it to me!”

“ _No,_ ” she said. _You won’t have it, you won’t hurt him, you won’t._ They grappled over the weapon, pulling it back and forth, the barrel swerving dangerously towards her and away as they did. Belle tried to shake it, to twist it out of his hands, but he wouldn’t let it go—and he had the handle of it, the easiest part to grasp. Her fingers were numb from the cold air, her hands clammy from panic and, cling though she might, her hold was slipping. And Gaston must have known it, too, must have seen it, because he pulled back on it even harder than before, and must have tightened his grasp, and, and, and…

The shot went off, a clap of thunder.

Belle didn’t feel it at first. The last echo of the shot died in her ears and she thought, _it must have missed me._ Then she looked back to Gaston, and thought that he must have shot himself somehow, because she had never seen him look so frightened in her life—his cruel eyes wide, his face blanched. It was only then that she felt something warm and wet slowly spreading across her belly. When she looked down, there was a dark red rose blooming against the white fabric of her shift.

Then came the pain, so sudden and so much that it carried away her senses. Belle opened her mouth, but if she made a sound at all, she didn’t hear it. And then she fell down, fell sideways, and darkness closed over her vision.

…

The Beast was clinging to a crumbling turret, scrambling to find a foothold, when he heard the gun fire. At first he thought that the shot was for him, and place where the first one, a misfire, had grazed his shoulder stung at the sound of it. But then he heard the scream—a wretched sound, full of horror and pain, that choked off before it could finish. All at once his heart was in his throat and the crumbling turret was all but forgotten, because he knew that voice.

 _She came back_ , he realized, and for a split instant his heart thrilled at the thought, until another, more chilling one followed on its heels: _She’s in trouble._

“Belle?” he called out. “Belle!” But there came no answer.

The spire wasn’t going to hold him for much longer; beneath his feet the roof tiles were cracking, falling off, and it seemed that soon the whole thing would give way. A moment ago he might not have bothered to move, might have let the turret take him with it as it collapsed. But now…

He leaped from the spire to the next one over, and from there to the ledge below. The shot and the scream had both come from the west wing, from the highest tower where Gaston had found him—not so far, he hoped, that he would be too late to help her.

 _But he wouldn’t shoot Belle,_ the Beast told himself as he raced along the stone walkway that led to the tower. _Why should he? It’s me he wants._ If Belle had come to any harm for his sake, what would he do? How could he live with himself if— but no, she would be fine, she had to be. All he had to do was get to her.

He was tearing his way up through the tower now, though not nearly fast enough for his liking, not when guns were going off and the castle was falling to rubble and Belle was in the one place that was furthest from his reach.

At last, though, he did reach that tiny topmost chamber, but he halted at the threshold, frozen by the sight before him. Belle lay on the floor just beside the window, pale and deathly still, her shift soaked through with blood. That man, Gaston, was crouched down beside her, speaking in a dark, hushed tone.

“Look at what you’ve done, Belle,” he said to her. “Look at what’s come of your meddling. You should have just—”

A growl tore through the Beast that drowned out whatever else Gaston might have said. He charged across the room and seized the man by the throat, dangling him out of the window, over the crumbling ledge and the staggering drop that lay beneath it.

“Let me go,” Gaston said, all the darkness in his voice giving way to desperation. “Let me go, _please!_ ”

“Why should I?” he demanded. “Look what you’ve done. She’s…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, but the thought clung to him, raw and agonizing. _Gone, she’s gone, my Belle…_

“It was an accident!” Gaston cried. “I meant her no harm, you must believe me!” He swallowed, and the Beast could feel the muscles in his neck shift, straining against his grip. “Please don’t hurt me, beast…”

The beastliest part of him, aching with rage and grief, shaking with the repetition of _she’s gone, gone, gone,_ was prepared to ignore that plea and hurl Gaston down to the paving stones. Before he could, though, he heard a soft, pained whimper coming from the floor just behind him.

 _Oh._ Any thought of vengeance flew from his mind at that sound. Belle was alive, if only just. She was afraid, in pain; she needed him. What would killing this man do for her?

“Very well,” he murmured, and set Gaston down upon the ledge. Then, turning, he added: “Get out.”

Evidently, though, Gaston’s pleas and desperation only lasted so long as he was being threatened; the moment the Beast turned his back, his voice took on that same tone as before.

“Too kind and gentle to fight back, are you?” he sneered.

The Beast had already knelt down beside Belle. She was awake, but not quite alert— her eyes were hazy and full of tears.

“Belle…”

“This is all _your_ doing,” said Gaston.

He couldn’t argue with that. If he had only been quicker, closer, he might have protected her. “Belle, I’m here…”

He heard the sharp click-click of a pistol being cocked. It must have been out there on the ledge; Gaston must have dropped it after he…

There was a deafening crack—not of gunfire, but of splitting stone—and the ledge outside gave way, taking Gaston with it as it tumbled down, down, down. But the Beast didn’t have time to linger on that demise, on the strange justice of it, for the sound had roused Belle somewhat. Her eyes widened and she drew in a short, sharp breath.

“I tried to stop him,” she said. “I tried—”

“Shh,” he whispered. “He’s gone now, don’t think of him. It’s alright.”

Belle stared up at him, and a slow, watery smile began to spread across her face. “You’re alive,” she said.

The Beast couldn’t speak around the knot tightening in his throat, couldn’t bear to say aloud what he was thinking: how cruel it was, how unfair, that he was alive but she was, not gone, not yet, but slipping away.

In the end he could only nod, and try to smile for her.

When he did manage to speak again, what came out was: “You’re going to be fine.” And it felt like a lie, something vile and thorny that snagged on his tongue, but he went on. “You’ll be fine. We’ll get you help. Just let me—”

He slid a hand under the small of her back, the other behind her shoulders, and made to lift her, but as he did she let out a gasp and her face contorted with pain. He drew back. No, there would be no moving her. And even if he could get her downstairs and find someone to help her, who was to say it would do any good? She had grown so weak already, and she was bleeding so much. The blood had soaked through her linens. It was pooling on the floor beneath her. He could feel it, warm and sticky, on his hands. No, she was beyond help now; she had lost too much.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the knot in his throat making his voice waver. “I’m sorry, Belle, I’m so sorry.”

“No,” she shook her head. Then with a pale, trembling hand she reached up and gently touched his face. The Beast leaned into the touch, and placed a hand over hers to hold it against his cheek (and it was cold, he thought, already too cold). His other hand he slipped behind her head, to cradle it; if he couldn’t protect her, he thought, couldn’t save her, then he could at least make her comfortable for what time she had left.

“I have to tell you—” she said, and it was painful to hear how small and ragged her voice had grown.

“Save your energy,” he begged her.

“No. No, I have to tell you,” she said. Her smile reemerged, weaker now but just as warm. “…I love you.”

He broke. Her words pierced whatever last bit of beastliness was left within him and he broke open, the tears he had been trying so hard to hold back falling unbidden.

“I love you, too,” he sobbed. “I love you, Belle. Please don’t go, please…”

She was crying now, too, all those unshed tears streaming down her wan face. But her smile didn’t falter. “At least I got to see you one last time,” she whispered.

Whatever breath she had left fled with those words, and her body went slack in his arms. Her hand fell away from his face, and she was gone.

“ _No_ ,” said the Beast. “No, Belle, come back. Come back. Please…” He bent over her body and pulled it close against him, sobbing.

So deep in despair was he that he didn’t notice when a woman stepped into the tower chamber, with fair curls peeking out from beneath her hood and the wilted, petal-less stem of a rose in her hands. He didn’t notice anything, in fact, until a wave of glittering golden light swept over him.

Ah, the curse. He had nearly forgotten. Or perhaps it was that he’d set aside all hope of it being broken—but Belle had done it, hadn’t she? She had loved him in those last few moments. Perhaps she had loved him even longer, although that thought brought a fresh rush of pain with it, because God, if he had only been honest with her a few hours ago he might have saved her. They might have had more time.

And now the curse was breaking; his servants would be their old selves once more, and the castle would be restored to its former glory. He would be a _man_ again. But it would be a hollow triumph—hollower even, perhaps, than remaining the way he had been—if Belle was not by his side to share in it all. The tears surged forth anew, and he curled around her even further to block out the light.

He couldn’t bear to let her go, not even as he felt himself changing, shrinking, his clawed extremities shifting into hands, feet. He clung to her, shuddering, even after the transformation had taken its course and the light faded away, and he didn’t let go until Belle let out a gasp and tightened her hands in the fabric of his shirt. That surprised him enough that he dared to draw back and look at her.

Any trace of her grievous wound was gone; all the blood had vanished, and her shift was pristine again, untorn and unstained. And Belle, oh, Belle was awake, breathing, her eyes open and clear. She was staring up at him, and her expression was wondering, but somewhat unsure.

Well, of course it was. After all, she had just woken from death (a miracle, one he still couldn’t quite believe could really be true) and now—he caught sight of his hands as they held her, human hands, a man’s hands—now she was practically staring up at a stranger.

He tried to assure her, to say any of the thousand things that were running through his mind: _it’s me, it’s still me, and you’re safe, you’re_ alive, _and I love you, I love you so much._ All that came out, though, was yet another tremulous, _“_ Belle…”

Her eyes widened for a split instant. Maybe she recognized his voice, although the underlying growl was gone from it. The nervous tension left her shoulders and her hands, and her mouth slowly softened into something very close to a smile. With gentle eyes she searched his face, then once again reached out to touch it. Her fingers— _warm_ , he marveled—grazed his cheek, fondled a lock of his hair. Eventually her gaze wandered upward, and when their eyes met her smile emerged in earnest, bright and full of joy.

“It’s you!” she said, and sat bolt upright in his arms to kiss him. The Beast (but no, he wasn’t, not anymore—Adam, he had once been called Adam) wrapped his arms around her and responded in kind.

When they broke apart, his chest was flooded with warmth, and his hope was restored. Belle had pressed her face against his shoulder and was talking rapidly, frantically, saying all the things she might not have had the chance to just a few moments before. Adam held her and listened, pressing soft kisses to her the top of her head. Outside, the sun was coming out, and the dark, crumbling façade of the castle was morphing into something brighter, more beautiful.

“I love you,” Belle said. “I’ll never leave you again.”

“I love you, too,” he replied. As for her leaving, well, he had very little fear of that. Twice now she had come back to him when he thought it was impossible. He had no doubt that no matter where she roamed—for she would roam, he was sure, free and headstrong thing that she was—she would find her way back to him, the same way she had tonight. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, they would roam together. For now, though, it was enough to sit and hold her, to kiss her, and to thank every lucky star he had that she was safe and warm in his arms. For now, it was enough that she had come back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to tumblr user MyForeverMoment for suggesting the prompt, and to my wonderful buddy Bria (witticaster on here) for beta'ing the first draft of this fic. I hope you all like it-- I'm very proud of it!


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